Amos, I showed you "little ditty" to my friend (and Library Board member) Sr. Guerra. He thought it quite possibly the filthiest, most obscene thing he'd ever read and is contacting the Mexican authorities to arrest and imprison you if you ever again cross the border into Mexico. He is considering contacting some gangsters in San Diego he knows to, in his words, "make [you] part of the Great Majority, but slowly, slowly."

I am truly honored, sir, to have so much unwanted attention sent in my direction.

Tell your friends they must first listen and watch the Ten Greatest You Tube Videos of all time. THEN they will understand. And, need I say, the Cancion de los Toallas de Papel is dedicated to Mom's Own Book Boy, Rapaire. For reasons that shall not be named.

"Papele lives the towel! Hummed made fun of zumbai already! Papele lives the towel Hummed made fun of zumbai already! Fresh and spilled coffee! And Even puppy urine! Ai, my breast, ai, my breast! Drippings after sex! That they are useful for everything! Papele lives the towel! Hummed made fun of zumbai already!"

Puzzling.

My guess is that Amos intended to say:

Long live toilet paper! Long live toilet paper! Fresh and spilled coffee! Even dog urine! Oh, mama! Oh, mama! Drippings after sex! It's good for everything! Long live toilet paper!

The only part that totally baffles me and which I have no explanation for is "Hummed made fun of zumbai already!"...

Exactly! Like "They're erecting something quaint and colloquial." That means it'll be something obscene. Or "My, isn't that colloquial and quaint?", which means, of course, that the vice squad will have to close it down if they can stomach getting close enough to do so.

I got me a degree in English (lit) and I've studied linguistics (lit), so I know.

Last time I was in "downtown" Skaneateles it looked like a summer community for rich folks. And isn't there a big estate out by the water? I bought a krumkake iron in a gourmet shop, first place I'd seen one, and I probably paid too much, but I'd been wanting one for a long time. I still have it. I recall that it was a place that was quite proud of itself. My friend I used to visit there was married to a local, in the Fonda family. Same family as Henry.

Henry? The caster of seed that brought about the birth of that illegitimate boy, Hargrove, on a debauched and drunken lost weekend in Skaneateles? Of course, it wasn't Henry's fault. No one warned him of the intoxicating potency of thos eimported liqueurs...

When the young boy asked his mother, the local waitress, where he had come from, she sighed and replied, "Absinthe made thee, Hargrove Fonda.".

I've been going through the Adobe tutorials today. Add a stiff neck (no new glasses yet--sometime next week) to eye strain and I need to go walk the dogs or weed the garden, move around for a while. Ugg.

I like those ½ size sheets since I tend to tear the full-sized ones into pieces. Mostly I don't use paper towels, I use cheap terrycloth wash cloths and a bunch of dish towels (what the Brits call "tea towels," I think).

Rapairel fortifies the sink By escapades upon the links And going on a kleptomanic jag Robbing golfers by the score While they're busy, yelling "Fore!" And nicking all the tee-towels from their bags.

He'll pretend he's on a stroll And sniff around the fifteenth hole And say he's searching for a ball awry, Then the golfers in their ruts Focused on their drives and putts Will never see him slide up on the sly!

ANd their curses won't befoul us When they find their bags are towel-less We'll be snug and safe and sound at home! Slimy as the ocean fishes Rapaire's doing up the dishes Let the towelless golfers fuss and foam!!

Old Rapaire, from Pocatello, Is a most ingenious fellow! Never lacks a towel or a poem Where others buy or write (with wheezes) He just grabs what e'er he pleases! Recession's not a problem in the Bookman's happy home!!!

Nay. Everything in the poem is something with which I've had first-hand experience vis a vis paper towels. I've never picked up pools of turtle shit, but I have picked up turds of poodle shit.

The truth of the matter is I never used to use paper towels. There was always a damp dishcloth available to wipe up spills and crumbs. Then I started buying microwavable frozen pre-cooked sausage patties. Just plop one on a saucer, nuke it for a minute and blot it with a paper towel to absorb the grease. Sorry, but I'm not eating a sausage patty that's been blotted with a dirty dishcloth. So now the paper towels are there on the bar all the time and, yes, I've become an addict.

Off? Set me off?? Off from the others??? Segregated???? Alone????? Alone and unwanted, as I spent grade school?????? At kickball and other school games chosen after the fence, the telephone pole, the asphalt on the playground, just as the bell ending recess rang??????? Coming out of school only to find that my bicycle had deserted me????????? Having no one to talk with, no friends, shunned even by the stray curs that inhabited the alleys?????????? Being known as the only kid in school who, as he trudged homeward, didn't even have the song of birds to cheer him???????????

Ah well. Go on. Set me off by myself in a dusty corner. I'm used to it. I've grown up and old with it. I can live through it. I know what it's like to go vote and have the ballot box spit my vote back out at me. I know what it's like to be ready to answer Roll Call in the Army and never have my name called. To fall into the swamps of Florida and be the only one in the group NOT to be devoured by alligators. To have the sky remain dark over my head, to spend every day and night without the light of the sun and moon. To have the electric light switch work for everyone but me.

Definitely a Duct Tape Opportunity, and the video will be widely acclaimed on You Tube. Narrative in print will round up to two million, and paperback adds 35%. Lesseee...England, France, Thailand, Monrovia....looks good.

A couple of points off the top for what's-his-name and we'll be rolling in dough....

The hospital delivered me to my mother -- she'd left the hospital and never realized she'd left me behind. When I arrived her only comment was, "Oh, yeah, I knew I forgot something."

Then, sometime later, she dropped me on my head. This, by itself, isn't so surprising but after dropping me out of the moving car and forcing me, a child of just 18 months, to crawl home bleeding and wounded her comment was, "Where were you? You missed supper."

Maybe the song is actually "That cat came back, the very next day. . . " Cat, of course, being the beat street slang for "That Cat," meaning "Rapaire" (how long have you gone by that name? Did your mother dandle you on her knee and croon to her little Rapaire? Before the drop kick, that is . . .)

Sheesh. Janie. You're going to have your hands full for a while. MOM will find a quiet corner where you hang your shingle. Start with Mike.

Even now, as the Head Honcho of the Biggest Public Library For Fifty Miles Around (literally), my staff will have a Board Meeting and never give me the necessary materials. When I spoke up at the Meeting on Tuesday last the President of the Board said, "Who are you? We need your name for the minutes."

If Janie's hanging out a shingle, I want to suggest she focus on remedies for Imaginary Playmate Syndrome, also known as Proxy-by-George syndrome. If she's going to concentrate on Mike, then she should read up on intellectual kleptomania.

No, not a scrawny little dachshund. You need a muscular smart pit bull named Cinnamon. That's what you need. Like this. Or this. I tell you, this dog will be the best companion you could imagine. And when you don't need a canine companion, she'll do your income taxes and rearrange your sock drawer.

Talkin' survival here. Got no pics I can post of some of the great dogs that have shared my life, but based on the premise that I would prefer not to "et" what I have "pet", the dog I would want with me would be a hound-lab mix, of which I have co-habitated with several. What you get is a good hunting dog that loves to obey, and will bring those groundhogs and possums right to you, not chewed up so awful bad that you can't roast or stew them, which means you don't have to contemplate dog roast, but if you do, a lot more meat on a bigger dog.

"Course, if yer in urban areas or near a wharf, a good rat dog like a leetle weinerdog or a small terrier might be just the ticket.